


Slight Foxing Around the Edges

by deutschtard



Series: Collectibles [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M, Multi, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson, Captain America Fanboy Number 1 is assigned to be Captain America's friend after he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slight Foxing Around the Edges

**Author's Note:**

> Someone told me to write a Cap/Coulson fic on tumblr, and what started out as a little idea has burgeoned into this! It's nowhere NEAR done yet.  
> Basically, I changed the canon so that after Steve's little breakout into Time Square, Coulson's the first one assigned to him. He's assigned to be his friend. And then I completely ignore THAT PART of the Avengers movie, going with what I THINK happened, and it goes from there. Please let me know if you like it! I'll be writing more as soon as I can. And always feel free to suggest ideas!

They tell him he's awake, and his first instinct is to go running up to the room because _he's waited his whole life for this moment,_ but he restrains himself, "I see, sir. What would you like me to do?" he asks, hands behind his back, at ease, staring head on into the cold glare of Director Nick Fury.  
  
Fury looks him up and down and there's a momentary quirk in his lips, almost like he smiled, "Keep watch outside the door, Coulson. We're going to need to reintegrate him, but he needs some time to come to terms with what he just saw outside," with that, he turns, his coat billowing in the self-created wind, and he walks out.  
  
"Sir," he nods, walking brusquely towards the room Captain Steve Rogers-- _Captain freaking America!--_ has been moved to following his little breakout into Times Square. Coulson's head is swimming. He can’t go in, he shouldn’t go in, but he _needs to_. He wants to see him. His fists clench as he stations himself in front of the door, telling the current guard that she’s been relieved of duty. He doesn’t know how long he waits, but it feels like an eternity until he hears a knock on the door from inside, a “hello? Is there someone out there?” Coulson bit the inside of his lip to keep a smile from forming as he turned around and stood in front of the door, “Yes, Captain, would you like me to come in?”  
  
“Yes, uh, that’d be great,”  
  
Coulson opens the door, shutting it behind him. The room is cold, mechanical, standard SHIELD issue. The grey is so permeating even the Captain looks a bit grey around the edges, but he puts that to having to come to terms with seventy years having passed in the blink of an eye. His voice is cautious, “My name is Agent Coulson, it’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he salutes, swallowing hard because _he’s saluting Captain America_. The salute is returned, and Cap does his best to appear unfazed by any of this,  
  
“I—Thanks, thank you, Agent Coulson,”  
  
“You can just call me Coulson, if you want,” he says, trying not to interrupt him. His heart nearly melts as Cap’s face softens, “Or Phil, Phil’s good,” and then Cap’s smiling. Jesus Christ that smile.  
  
“Phil. All right, Phil. So, I guess you’re the one assigned to babysit me?” he says, a bit of cynicism in his voice,  
  
Phil balks, “I, uh, well, I guess that’s one way of putting it, sir. D’you mind if I sit down?” he motions to the chair near him,  
  
“No, go ahead,”  
  
It takes him a moment to figure out how to word this, “I’m more here to, well, answer questions, help you with the technology a little, and keep you company.”  
  
Cap studies him for a moment before sitting on the bed, his posture much more at ease, “So you’re here to…be my friend?”  
  
Coulson’s heart skips a beat, “Something like that, Captain,”  
  
Steve smiles again, “If I can call you Phil, then you can call me Steve,”  
  
He quickly regroups, “Yes, right, Steve. So where should we start?” he follows Steve’s eyes around the room as he looks over the surroundings for what must be the umpteenth time, and folds his hands together in his lap.  
  
“How about we start with that thing,” Steve motions to the flat-screen computer on the desk and Coulson smiles. This may take a while, but it’s going to be worth it.  
  


****

 

Unfortunately, they don’t get very far into much of anything because just over a week later, Loki’s come to Earth, Barton’s been compromised, and the world’s nearly turned on its ear as they all gather on the SHIELD Helicarrier and Loki stabs him through the chest. Fury looks into his eyes as the corners of the room turn red and the sound fuzzes out, he hangs on, “This was never gonna work, if they didn’t have something to—“ the darkness takes over and the world goes silent, there is nothing. Agent Phil Coulson can do nothing but let death take him.

He wakes up in a secured bed in SHIELD’s New York office—the same office that Steve was sequestered in until he woke up. There is a doctor checking his charts, and he speaks, tongue dry, sticking to his mouth, “What…where…”

“Don’t worry, Agent. You’re alive. The world is safe, and the Avengers have assembled,”  
Phil smiles, “Good,” he says before dropping back off to sleep.

****

  
After he’s done debriefing the Avengers, Director Fury is the first (and only) visitor. “How’s that chest wound feel?”  
  
Coulson would laugh if it didn’t hurt to breathe, “Fantastic, sir.”  
  
“Good. I’ve talked to our doctors, and they say if they can give you some of Angel's blood, you’ll be back to us in no time,” Coulson nearly starts to speak, but Fury’s not done yet, “but I’m not so sure if that’s the best idea.”  
  
He furrows his eyebrows, “Boss?”  
  
Fury focuses his eye on him, “They all think you’re dead, Agent. You were right, that’s what got them to get their asses in gear and stop Loki,” Fury looks concerned, but different, not the battle-worn concerned he’s seen hundreds of times when there’s a new villain or alien attack. This looks more personal. “You were the catalyst. How exactly do you think they’ll respond to you waltzing into the command center next week when you’re cleared to leave the hospital?”  
  
He sighs, defeated, and nods before looking up at him, “Yes, sir. You’re right. So…what do we do from here?”  
  
Coulson watches Fury’s tongue dart out to wet his lips, a contrast against his dark skin, “Once you’re healed, we’ll put you on assignment in Europe, undercover, secret. Once we’re sure this whole operation’s going to work, we’ll contact you and bring you back. But we’ll do it slowly and carefully. We don’t want this to backfire in our faces,”  
  
“Okay,” he says, hand rubbing the bandages on his chest idly, “I got it, Boss,” he manages to keep the look of being utterly crestfallen off of his face until his superior officer leaves the room.  
  
It’s a few minutes later that the thought hits him like another stab to the chest from Loki: He’d only gotten a week with Captain America, but they’d forged the preliminary bonds of friendship. And now that man, the man who he strived to be like every waking moment of his life, the reason he joined he service, the reason he still believed in heroes, the reason for everything; that man thought he was dead, that he had lost his only friend.  
  
“Shit.”  
  


****

  
He knows Cap’s cell phone number by heart, he was currently the only number (outside of Nick Fury) in Cap’s phone book. It goes against everything he’s been ordered, but it’s a lot harder than he anticipates not to call him, to text him, to let him know “hey, I’m alive!”  
But Phil’s not that stupid, not even for Captain America. He endures his physical therapy, the staff barely talks to him, and he catches up on about ten years of reading since they won’t let him watch TV during the day (at night, he sneaks on the tablet Pepper had sent him for his birthday and checks the news, checks up on the Avengers). He nearly goes stir crazy half a dozen times as the greyness of the walls pushes in on him, the silence. Once it doesn’t hurt to laugh, he chuckles and thinks that even having to put up with Stark would be worth it if he had JARVIS to talk to, even for a second.  
  
But there’s nothing. There’s him, there’s recovery, and then there’s some unknown secretive job in Europe where he’ll stay for God knows how long until Fury deigns it all right for him to come back. There’s a small bit of anger, an ember of resentment burning deep in the pit of his stomach. He knew they needed it, it had worked so well, better than he could have anticipated. But now because of his ‘death,’ he’s been demoted to the SHIELD equivalent of a desk job. And he can’t stop thinking about Steve. He wonders if he’s learned how to work any more of the intricate applications on his cell phone. He wonders if they’ve even upgraded Steve’s cell phone to one that _has_ applications, or if he’s still on the old Nokia bricks from 1999.  
  
When he’s read every book SHIELD’s allowed him to have in his room (which isn’t many), he’s left with nothing, and he’s bored out of his skull. So he asks for a sketchbook and some pencils. Phil Coulson doesn’t know how to draw, he’s just above a six year old in terms of artistic ability, but Steve was an artist, so he figures maybe that’s a good skill to have.  
  
Near the end of his stint in the hospital, he’s maybe progressed to a thirteen year old, dozens of sketchbooks and loose paper litter his room, and half the pictures are of Steve. Steve in the outfit Phil saw him in the first time they met, Steve in his Captain America costume from the 1940s, Steve in his new costume, copies of Steve from the newspaper articles he totally wasn’t reading on his tablet no, sir, where did you get that idea from? They’re nothing like what he’s seen from Steve’s sketchbooks, but he’s improving.  
  


****

 

Timbuktu. They actually, _literally_ send him to Timbuktu. There’s a scientist doing some research on genetic manipulation and polymers of some sort—something like that. Coulson’s never had much of a head for science, no one ever needed him to have a head for it. He spends his days on watch, or in touch with the scientist’s contacts, or ensuring careful delivery of tools or ingredients. At night, he draws.

He gave up on landscapes while he was still in the hospital, having a bit better luck drawing people. They weren’t stellar by any means, cartoonish in their own way, angular but still bordering on something more suitable for a crowd of under 15 year olds. He’s fine with that, he’s happy that he can produce anything halfway decent-looking anyway.

Every night he leaves the television on any channel talking about the Avengers, he hacks into SHIELD’s database and watches clips he’s already seen (but shouldn’t have already seen), and Fury lets him because he needs this. He worked with Barton for years, he interacted with Stark for years, he knew Natasha for longer than he could remember, and he’d idolized Steve since he could breathe. These were his people, they were his family, and every day, his heart ached and he rubbed the scar that split his chest in two as it tingled in remembrance of the last time he was with them.

Days melt into weeks melt into months and finally, _finally_ he gets a call from Fury. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me,” he says, grinning at the screen where Fury rolls his eye at him.

“Had to make absolutely sure the operation was under control,”

“I know, boss. Does this mean it is and I can come home?”

Fury’s face tightened in that mask of ‘I’m not telling you a damn thing, sucker’ he knew all too well. But then he did something that almost terrified him: He smiled. “Everyone, meeting’s about to start.”

Phil’s heart sank and rose and his stomach did intricate moves that would surprise even Olympic gymnasts as he saw them file into the room. Jesus, he was in his pajamas, a tank top and—oh _God,_ he was wearing Captain America pajama pants. Immediately, he moves the computer to the desk and sat down, making sure the pants are out of sight. He’s frozen, not out of fear, but out of…well, what exactly are you supposed to _do_ when your boss shoves you on screen in front of a room of people who’ve been under the impression that you’re dead for the past year? He doesn’t move, he doesn’t _blink_ ; he can’t.

“Fury, what is this?” he hears Barton’s voice ring out in annoyance as he comes into frame, “some sort of memorial?” Clint’s never been the sentimental type.

That’s when Coulson notices the flicker in Natasha’s eyes. She knows. But God bless her, she doesn’t let on.

Tony’s staring at the screen, brows furrowed, leaning forward as though he’s assessing some new piece of tech, Bruce is--as ever--unreadable, Thor’s looking to Fury for the answer to Clint’s question, and Steve. God, _Steve_. He’s staring at him like he’s seeing a ghost. Well, he is, basically.

After what seems like an hour, Nick puts on his Director Fury voice, stands, hands clasped behind his back, and looks around at all of them. “I have a confession to make,”

Clint crosses his arms, “We’re listening,”

Fury swallows and it’s almost as though he’s nervous. He pauses for entirely too long, “I lied. To all of you. It was for the good of the team, and the good of the free world. I had to make sure that--”

“Cut the crap, Fury,” Clint interrupts, “Just spit it out already,”

The look of agreement from the surrounding members is all he needs.

“Uh...Hi guys,” Coulson blurts before he can stop himself. The entire room falls _dead_ silent.

Fury recovers quickly, “He never really died. He gave you the push you needed, and I sent him to Timbuktu once he healed up.”

“...I would quit right now if I had a backup plan. You are an absolute _bastard_ , you know that?” Clint wasn’t tearing up, no sir he was _not_ , as he berated Fury for a full five minutes. The weird part was that Fury _let_ him.

The entire time, Steve never takes his eyes off of Phil. Coulson fidgets uncomfortably under his gaze, “Barton,” he finally says, again, shutting the entire room up, “how about you at least say hello before you storm out of the room?”

That stops him in his tracks, “I...um. Sorry. Also I’m going to nut punch you when you get back, you fuckhead,”

Coulson laughs like he hasn’t done in ages, and that’s when Tony stops scrutinizing him (not that he’s been paying attention to anyone but Steve and Clint for the past five minutes).

“Well there you go, not an LMD, we haven’t perfected the ability for laughing yet,”

“Thank you, Stark, glad to know you finally think I’m real,”

  
Tony grins, “Gotta do my job, be the paranoid skeptic for everyone. Good to have you back,”

Bruce nods, “Yeah, what he said,” his voice is level, almost betraying a small hint of being slightly mystified.

Coulson focuses on Steve again, “Captain,” he pauses, “Steve, are you okay?” he hears Steve take in a shaky breath and the single tear rolls down his cheek and it’s almost impossible for Coulson not to break down right then and there with him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I just...It’s really...it’s really you, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says with a smile,

“And you’re really coming back?” Steve asks, standing from his chair, walking up to the screen to touch it as though he could reach out and touch Coulson in Timbuktu.

“I don’t know, Boss?”

Fury turns, and every eye is on him. He doesn’t say a word, not yet, but he nods, finally “Three days. We have to debrief him on the work he’s been doing in Timbuktu,”

Clint takes that moment to punch him in the shoulder, “Hey, you deserved it,” he says, putting his hands up. Natasha flicks her eyes to them, smirks, then looks back up at Coulson and speaks for the first time since entering, “I’ll be glad to see you back, Coulson.”

“Aye!” Thor booms, “We shall have a warrior’s feast in honor of the return of Son of Coul! I shall return to Asgard and bring the carcass of a large boar so that we might properly celebrate your return,”

He laughs again, “Thank you, Thor. I’ll see you all in a few days.”

****

All his things are packed, and he has a considerable amount more than he did when he got there (sketchbooks pile up, and they pile up quickly when you use all your spare time to fill them). He doesn’t think he’s ready to come back. A year ago he was, for all intents and purposes, dead. The world went on spinning without him. People died, people were saved, time went on.

“Shut up, Phil,” he tells himself, looking out the window of the jet. Captain America had been frozen for _seventy years_ , and he was doing just fine. Phil hadn’t actually lost any time, not like Steve. he had no reason to be beating himself up like this, or worrying. Things would be fine.

Some of the other agents take his bags as he steps onto the familiar ground of the helicarrier, and just off-deck, he sees the Avengers waiting for him, smiling. When he’s maybe ten yards out, Steve breaks into a gallop and scoops him up into his arms, nearly squeezing the life out of him.

“Hello to you, too, Steve,” he chokes out, a couple of tears welling up despite his mental protests.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Steve says, loosening his grip just a bit. It’s like he’s afraid to let go, like if he does, Coulson will disappear and he’ll lose him all over again.

Coulson pats his back and finally returns the hug, and maybe he takes a moment to breathe in the smell of leather and Borox that was so Steve, “I’m glad, too. You have no idea.”

Steve does let go then, beaming, pulling a small box from his pocket wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon and a red tag, “I can finally give you these,”

“Steve...” he knows exactly what’s in the box, and everyone’s staring at them from under cover of the eaves, “inside, okay? I don’t want them to blow away out here.”

Steve nods and flings an arm around his shoulders as they make their way back inside. He’s home, he’s really _home_ , and it feels surreal and great at the same time. He knows he’s alive, he knows he’s back, but it hasn’t sunken in yet. Coulson lets his fingers drag along the railing on the outer window of the bridge as suddenly the entire bridge crew breaks out in applause. Thor and the rest of the Avengers have lined up on the balcony overlooking the right side of the bridge, and they’re clapping right along, a “Welcome back, Coulson!” banner (did they actually make a banner, what was this, an office job? Whatever, it was great) hung from the railing up there, it looked handmade.

There was even little personalized bits of some of the letters. The W had obviously been done by Clint, it was made out of little arrows. The K somehow fashioned into the red hourglass of the Black Widow, the first O had been turned into Cap’s shield, the B somehow made a sideways green fist. Tony made the second O into an arc reactor, and the background of the M had been turned into Mjölnir, obviously drawn in by Thor. As the applause died down, he realized that Steve’s arm was still over his shoulders, “Thanks, everyone. Really. It’s...It’s an honor to be back,”

Steve leaned down to whisper in his ear, “C’mon, let’s get to that exclusive Avengers feast. The boar Thor brought back is even bigger than you are,”

Coulson’s cheeks flushed and he nodded, “I’ll meet you there, gotta get changed into something more appropriate for a feast.”

He stands in front of the mirror for nearly ten minutes, fiddling with the small amount of hair on his head, straightening his clothes, and he’s nearly startled out of his skin when there’s a knock on his door, “Coming! Hang on!”  
He’s surprised to see Steve standing right there, “Oh, Steve, I...I was just about to leave, actually,”

Stee smiles, “It’s okay, I wanted to give this to you before you got there. No sense bringing it around dirty pig meat,” he holds the box out and puts it in Phil’s hands, “I spent the past year looking for replacements for your old set. Director Fury kind of...got your blood on the old ones,” he looked embarrassed, “I’m still looking, but so far I’ve only got the two,”

He opens the box, and his face breaks out into a wide smile. There they are, two nearly mint condition, autographed Captain America trading cards. The top one a picture of Captain America saluting with a smirk, and he sees this one’s the only one that’s personalized: _To Phil, the best soldier I know. Capt. Steve Rogers._ Phil closes the box gingerly and puts it on the table by the door, “Thank you, Cap. Steve. You didn’t have to do th--”

“Yes I did. After you saved us all, it was the least I could do, I’ll find the rest and put my John Hancock on every one of them,” and goddammit those baby blues are welling up with tears again and Phil can’t look him in the eye because he can’t see his idol _crying_ because of him, that’s not how it worked. It was supposed to be the other way around.

Somehow, he manages to keep himself from joining in the sob fest, he reaches forward and wraps his arms around Steve’s stomach and hugs him, “Thank you,” he repeats, pulling back to smile at him, “let’s go eat this enormous boar. I wonder if it tastes like pork.”

****

 

The boar did indeed taste like pork, but slightly more savory. It was fantastic, Phil had stuffed his face until he couldn’t possibly have eaten another bite. There were drinks and merriment and everyone caught him up on the past year (even though he’d been following most of it in secret anyway). He played along and the night wound down until only he and Steve are left in the “party hall”.

“Don’t you need to sleep?” Steve asks, the concern in his voice making it hard for Coulson not to blush a little.

“Nope, not yet, at least. I slept most of the way here, plus it’s still afternoon on my internal clock. Don’t _you_ need to sleep?”

Steve _did_ blush, and if Coulson hadn’t been sitting down, he probably would have gone a bit weak in the knees, “The, eh, serum kind of helps my body regenerate quicker, I only need about four hours a night to be in tip top shape. I _can’t_ really sleep much more than that,” he scratched at the back of his neck.

Oh god, he really _was_ embarrassed about that, wasn’t he? That... “That’s not something to be embarrassed about, Cap,” he says, still falling back on the nickname. When he was young, Coulson learned that it took 21 days to make a habit, and he hadn’t had 21 days with Cap yet, so it flip-flopped back and forth, “I know people who aren’t super-soldiers who sleep in cycles. It’s called polyphasic sleep. They’ll sleep for five hours, and then take four or five twenty minute naps throughout the day,”

Steve looks at him, confused and intrigued, “Really? Wow, I never thought of that...” he shakes his head and chuckles a little, “I’m still really behind on everything, Phil. I can use a cell phone and I know that qu...ho...gays, that’s the right word now, right? I know they can get married in some states, this one included. But outside of that, I can barely use my cellular phone, and Tony’s barred me from touching anything in his car again,”

That makes Coulson laugh, “A lot of people are barred from touching Tony’s cars, period, let alone anything in them. But hey, I’m back, and unless I’m mistaken, I never got taken _off_ my old assignment...” he let his words trail off as he smiled at Steve.

“Your old assignment? Oh, you mean...being my friend?”

Coulson smiled wider, “Yeah, if you’d like me to be,” it still felt like a dream, even now, sitting next to Captain America, let alone talking about being friends.

That heavy arm came to rest around Phil’s shoulders again as Steve gave him a bit of a squeeze, “Of course I would. You’re my best friend, Phil. I mean, I’ve got the team, and they’re great, but you were the first person to treat me like a human being and not some laboratory experiment when I came back,”

He tries really hard not to gawk at him. Captain Steven Grant Rogers just called him his best friend. That was something he used to only _dream_ about when he was a child. He was, apparently, best friends with Captain America. Phil barely knew how to process that information “I uh, I’m honored, Steve. I mean, I mean really,”

Steve’s arm had come from around Phil’s shoulders, and he elbowed the agent gently, “I’m the one who’s honored, Agent Coulson,” he said with a smirk.


End file.
